


Everybody Hates Steve

by thundercaya



Series: Exterminator!Steve [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Passive-aggression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundercaya/pseuds/thundercaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you naturally unpleasant, or did you have to learn?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love is on the Air

The biggest decisions of Steve Carlsberg's life had been made for him. He'd moved to Night Vale because he'd been sent there on a job and hadn't been able to leave. He'd started his own business because there were no existing companies in his industry in Night Vale. He'd gotten married because the woman he was seeing had gotten pregnant. He'd gotten divorced because his wife had gotten tired of him.

He wouldn't change any of it now. He never would have had it in him to be his own boss back home. And he needed that freedom, that control over the scheduling of his appointments, so that he could shuttle his daughter Stella between school and ballet practice and attend most of her recitals. Even the ex-wife wasn't too much of a bother, and anyway, Steve had a lot of experience with pests, being an exterminator.

It was while on a job that Steve first came to realize that the government in Night Vale was not to be trusted. The town had all the usual pests--rats, roaches, termites--but every once in a while he got a call for something... unusual. After the first such job, he'd contacted the City Council to inform them of a possible infestation of unknown creatures that they might want to investigate. They'd promised to look into it, and as far as he could tell they never had. After a few more similar jobs, he'd contacted them again and insisted that they should check it out. This time they had, and they sent him a copy of the report, saying that their investigation had turned up nothing out of the ordinary. Just rats, roaches, termites. Bullshit.

Because he had the time to do so, Steve looked more into the workings of the government--the way that strange events seemed to be explained away or ignored completely until they either went away on their own or didn't. He wondered why nobody noticed, but maybe they just didn't have the time like he did, busy with their daily lives under someone else's authority. He began making pamphlets, information packets, which he left in the houses he worked on or under the mats of houses he didn't. He got in trouble for it a few times, probably one of the most frequently re-educated people in town, but he saw it as a necessary risk for getting the truth out.

***

The Night Vale Community Radio Station was horribly infested, to the point where the previous host had been eaten by... something. Steve was called in to fumigate the building so that they could get the show going again with a new host, an eager intern who had jumped at the chance to fill the newly open slot. Said intern was waiting for Steve to let him into the station.

"Hello!" he greeted brightly, offering his hand to shake. "I'm Cecil Palmer. You must be Steve Carlsberg."

"That's what it says on my truck," Steve said, shaking Cecil's hand.

"I've seen your truck around town," Cecil said. "Never had any pest control problems myself, but I knew that if I ever did, I'd be calling you. I hear you're the best exterminator in Night Vale."

"I'm the only exterminator in Night Vale," Steve reminded. This guy sure did talk a lot. Good voice, though. Probably born for radio. "So, Cecil, why don't you go ahead and show me what I'll be dealing with?"

***

All the signs of a cover-up were there. While there was a pretty decent infestation, these particular roaches weren't common in the area, and they certainly weren't known to eat people--at least not live ones. Cecil didn't seem very interested in this when Steve tried to explain it to him. Instead he asked Steve if he was planning on listening to the show when it returned.

"I'm really excited about it," Cecil said. "I'm really hoping to bring some new listeners in. Our ratings were horrible with the last guy. Who we'll all miss greatly."

"Funny you should ask...." Steve said. Just that morning a note had been pushed through his mail slot informing him that listening to the Night Vale Community Radio Show was now mandatory. Of course given the length of the show it was unreasonable to demand that all citizens listen for the entire duration, so the required length of listening was five minutes. This would allow busy citizens to get their listening done while on the drive to or from somewhere, but the hope was that five minutes was enough time to hook listeners so that they'd stay tuned for the entire show. Presumably this note had not been sent to Cecil. "I was planning on it, yes."

Cecil beamed, and Steve found himself glad that he'd kept the "why" of it to himself.

***

The fumigation took three days, after which Cecil's show was up and running. Steve tuned in, as mandated, while driving Stella to practice. The show started off plainly enough. Cecil introduced himself as the new host and went through the community calendar. A few quick announcements, and the five minutes were up. Steve let Stella out of the car, and when she was safely inside the dance studio, he prepared to pull out of his parking spot. That was when Cecil's tone changed.

"As some of you may know," Cecil began, barely masking the giddiness in his voice, "our station was recently fumigated. And because of that, I finally had the pleasure of meeting Steve Carlsberg, the best exterminator in Night Vale. The _only_ exterminator in Night Vale, Steve was quick to remind me. So if you have a pest control problem, be sure to call Steve Carlsberg. But listeners, if you do, be prepared for his quick wit. When I asked him if he was in fact Steve Carlsberg, he said 'that's what it says on my truck,' in a tone so dry I almost missed that he was being funny. And he _was_. So funny. And easy on the eyes, if I may add. All uncomfortable smiles and graying temples. Oh, listeners. That I may once more bask in his mature, dignified looks and more mature, dignified sense of humor."

Steve sat in the parking lot, car running, for the duration of Stella's practice. His face was hot and his hands were glued to the steering wheel as if he were speeding down an empty desert highway. When Stella returned to the car, she had to knock on the window for Steve's attention. He gave a jump, then unlocked the door and let her in.

On the drive home, Steve had to split his attention between Stella's summary of her practice and the rest of Cecil's show, not to mention the road. However, his name did not come up again. Presumably, someone at the station had told Cecil during the weather to rein it in.

***

The phone call came after Steve had fed Stella and sent her to bed. Considerate, really, even if Steve wished it hadn't come at all. The name "Bella" came up on his caller ID. His ex-wife.

"Bella," Steve said. "I hope you're calling to tell me you're coming to the PTA meeting tomorrow."

"That never stops being funny, Steven," Bella said. "I can see why that kid on the radio likes you."

"Of course you'd call to make fun of me. Well, it's no joke that I just got some free advertising for my business. And don't say 'kid.' He's not _that_ much younger than me."

"You don't need advertising, dear. You're the only game in town. And why should his age matter, unless you're interested, too?"

"Really, Bella? I don't even know him. We spoke for maybe twenty minutes. Or he did, anyway. Guy's got a mouth on him, as you heard."

"Well, he seems to think he knows you," Bella said. "And hey, who doesn't like a good mouth? Do let me know if there are any developments. Or, oh, I know. I'll just listen for them on the radio."


	2. Progress and Propaganda

Steve began dreading leaving the house, knowing that if he ran into Cecil, the whole town would hear about it. He felt an immense pressure to have something clever to say every time, though even when he failed, Cecil always managed to spin the encounter in a positive light, saying how charming Steve was with his mundane topics of conversation, or similar. As embarrassed as the attention left him, Steve never asked Cecil to stop. He found it sort of endearing. He... well, he liked it. And it was that realization that finally led Steve to stop pretending he didn't know Cecil was trying to get Steve to ask him out.

Cecil was beyond thrilled, and Steve had to admit that he was pretty excited himself. He'd been out a couple of times since the divorce, but never with someone who was so openly eager to see him. Steve had an afternoon planned out for them, but once Cecil mentioned that his roommate was out of his apartment they ended up there, doing things that couldn't be talked about on the radio. This, however, didn't stop Cecil from _saying_ that he couldn't talk about their date on the radio. Steve needed to have a word with him about that.

"Kids listen to your show," he reminded, calling Cecil after the show. " _My_ kid listens to your show. You might want to tone it down."

"I do apologize, my wonderful Steve," Cecil said. "I'm just so happy, and I wanted everyone to know. I'll make sure to control myself next time."

And he had, but not before reciting the conversation on the air.

***

A few weeks in, and Steve allowed Cecil to meet Stella, who had been begging him to introduce her to his locally famous boyfriend.

"I like your show, Mr. Cecil," the girl said. "I listen to it every day when I'm not at practice."

"Thank you, princess," Cecil said. "Your daddy tells me you dance?"

The girl nodded. "Mm-hm. I'm getting really good at it, too."

"That's wonderful. I used to dance."

"Ballet?" Stella asked, eagerly. "Not enough boys dance ballet."

"No, no, mostly jazz. But ballet is truly an art form."

They dropped Stella off at a birthday party, and then they had Steve's house to themselves.

"She really likes you," Steve said, going to his liquor cabinet to get Cecil a drink. "She's never been really fond of anyone I dated after her mother, but you seem to be the exception."

"I'm glad," Cecil said, smiling. He leaned back on the counter, and when his hand touched paper, he absently picked it up. "What's this?" he asked, frowning at one of Steve's pamphlets.  "I've seen this around town. Did someone hand you--" He glanced at the counter and saw that there was a whole stack of them. "No.... _You_ hand them out."

Steve finished pouring Cecil's drink and held it out to him, but Cecil didn't take it.

"You didn't know?" Steve asked, setting the drink on the counter. "I thought everyone did."

Cecil said nothing, staring at the ground.

"Cecil, listen," Steve said. "I don't want you to think I think everyone who works for the government is a bad person or anything. I mean, you just report the news as it's given to you. You don't know it's full of lies."

Cecil cringed.

"Un...less you do."

"They don't _tell_ me, if that's what you mean," Cecil said, still looking at the ground. "But sometimes I can tell. I trust the government, though. To decide what we should and shouldn't know." A smile crossed his face then, though his eyes were still downcast, two parts nervous, one part mischievous. "...Usually. Sometimes I'll tell the truth instead. When it feels right."

"Well, there you go," Steve said. "That's exactly what I do. It's just that my definition of 'when it feels right' is broader than yours."

"I guess...," Cecil said. He glanced up at Steve, frowning. "Do you get in trouble?"

"Once in a while," Steve said. "You?"

"I have, a couple of times." Cecil wrinkled his face and lowered his voice. "We should have had this conversation in a windowless room."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Steve dismissed. "My windows are soundproofed."

Cecil looked absolutely scandalized. "Steve Carlsberg! How are you allowed to live?"

"That's a very good question."

"So," Cecil said, having gone now from being shocked to being impressed. "Are you saying that we can be as loud in here as we want and no one would be bothered?"

Steve grinned, grabbing the counter on either side of Cecil and pressing against him. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

***

"Am I getting a little sister?" Stella asked Steve over breakfast.

"Why would you ask that?" Steve asked, eyebrow raised over his cup of coffee.

"Because you're dating Mr. Cecil," Stella said. "I know where babies, come from, Daddy. They told us at school."

"And where did they tell you that babies come from?" Steve asked. Half of what they taught in Night Vale schools was utter bunk, so he was ready to correct whatever outlandish things his daughter had been taught about reproduction.

"From intercourse," Stella said, and Steve nearly choked on his coffee.

"That's--" He coughed and cleared his throat before trying again. "That's... not wrong, but... babies don't just... I mean, the people _having_ intercourse have to be--"

"Grownups," Stella put in. Well, at least they'd told her that.

"Yes," Steve said. "They have to be grownups to _have_ intercourse in the first place, but they also have to be different--" He was going to say "sexes," but Stella cut him off again.

"You and Mr. Cecil are different," she said. "Mr. Cecil is black."

"A mommy and a daddy!" Steve blurted out.  "You need a mommy and a daddy!"

Stella smiled, getting up from the table and picking up her plate. "Oh, Daddy. That's so last century."

***

They had just gone from keeping track of their relationships in weeks to months when Cecil's roommate lost the lottery. Cecil gave a lovely eulogy on his show, then lamented the fact that he could not carry the rent for a two-bedroom apartment on his own and would either need to find a new roommate or a new place to live. Steve had to admit that he preferred the idea of Cecil not living with anyone else, so he offered to let Cecil move in with him until he could find a suitable one-room apartment he could pay for on his own.

Cecil was ecstatic, even after Steve told him he'd be sleeping on the couch rather than in Steve's room, because of Stella.

"Your house, your rules," Cecil said. "I just can't believe you'd do this for me. How did I get so lucky?"


	3. Urge to Kill Rising

Steve was considering changing the ringtones around on his phone. The one for his ex-wife irritated him on the very first note. However he knew that if he cycled through them, he'd spoil them all, so he continued to let a single musical phrase carry the burden of signaling Bella's calls.

"Thursday at six," Steve said, not bothering with a greeting.

Caught off guard, Bella didn't answer for a moment, and then she laughed. "All right, Steven. I know when the recital is, and I already told you I was coming. You didn't think that was why I was calling did you?"

"That's never why you call. What do you want?"

"I just wanted to see how things were going with your boytoy. I know I can just listen to the radio, but he's gotten better at censoring himself."

"My--Jesus, Bella. Don't call him that."

"Sorry," Bella said. "Do you prefer live-in sex worker?"

"That's cute."

"What's cute is that you're offended. You shouldn't be. Lots of people have arrangements like that. You and I did, for example."

"That's a new one," Steve said. "I've never heard you frame it quite like that."

"Did I neglect to mention it?" Bella asked. "I thought it was pretty obvious. You were nothing to write home about, dear. You know I wouldn't have married you if I hadn't gotten pregnant.  That was your fault, too. You didn't do your half of the birth control ritual."

Steve was done with trying to humor her. "Don't you dare talk about Stella like she was a mistake."

"Oh, of course she wasn't," Bella said. "You were. But hey. Now you get to be somebody else's."

***

Cecil had plenty to do at the station after getting off the air, so Steve was usually asleep when he came in. Tonight, however, Steve was awake, and apparently listening for Cecil, because he emerged from the hallway when Cecil shut the front door.

"Hey," Cecil greeted. "You okay?"

Steve shrugged, leaning against the wall. "Had kind of a rough evening."

"Me, too," Cecil said, taking off his shoes. "Well, a tiring one, anyway."

"They really did have you on a treadmill the whole time?" Steve asked. "That wasn't fake panting?"

"Community Health Week is _very_ important," Cecil said. "Do you want to talk about your night?"

For a moment Steve said nothing, then he nodded. "Yeah." He motioned for Cecil to follow him. "Come on."

Steve shut the bedroom door behind them and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Cecil sat next to him.

"So...." Cecil began.

Instead of saying anything, Steve grabbed the back of Cecil's head and kissed him forcefully. Cecil acted in kind, kissing back and gripping Steve's shoulders.

"You don't want to talk then?" Cecil asked when the kiss broke.

"No," Steve said before kissing Cecil more lightly. "Is that okay?"

"Whatever you want, sweetheart."

Steve wasted no time getting Cecil undressed, keeping him too distracted with kisses and touches for Cecil to return the favor just yet. He pushed Cecil back on the bed, giving some special attention to a particularly sensitive spot on Cecil's neck before trailing kisses down his chest and stomach. Cecil groaned when Steve pressed his lips to the end of Cecil's cock, and again as he brushed them down Cecil's shaft.

"Shh...." Steve said before taking Cecil into his mouth.

Cecil let out a gasp, then bit his lip hard, grabbing Steve's hair and saying with his tugging fingers and rocking hips what he was trying not to say with his mouth.

Steve moved back after a time, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Wait right there," he said, standing. Cecil backed more fully onto the bed. He watched as Steve dropped his shorts and went to the nightstand  for a bottle of lube. Steve spread it over his fingers and set the bottle down before returning to Cecil.

"Got something for me, Steve Carlsberg?" Cecil asked, grinning.

Steve kissed Cecil hard and pushed back his legs. "I do," he said, rubbing his slick fingers over Cecil's entrance, and then he pushed them inside.

Cecil cried out, tipping his head back.

"Quiet," Steve reminded softly, though he was making it just a bit difficult for Cecil to comply, crooking his fingers to find the place Cecil liked to be touched.  Cecil's whole body jerked. "There?"

"Ye-" Cecil covered his own mouth with his hand and nodded his head animatedly, giving a muffled "mm-hm," as he gripped Steve's shoulder with his other hand.

Steve rubbed at that spot, pressing the heel of his palm to Cecil's balls and massaging there, too. A look of concentration sat on Steve's face as he watched Cecil writhe beneath his hand, listened to his stifled moans. Finally Cecil moved his hand from his mouth, gripping both of Steve's shoulders now.

"I'm close," Cecil huffed. "Steve, I--!"

Steve pulled his hand away, replacing it with his cock. Cecil arched his back, letting out a strained, almost desperate whine while Steve drove steadily into him.  Steve leaned in to bite that place on Cecil's neck. He wrapped his hand around Cecil's cock, pumping with his thrusts. Cecil covered his mouth again, muffling his groans as he came over Steve's hand.

"Oh my goodness," Cecil gasped, melting into the mattress beneath Steve, who had ceased thrusting. "My magnificent Steve, you are so...."

Steve pulled out, resting on his knees, panting and still hard.

"Oh, honey, here, let me finish you," Cecil said, moving to sit up.

"Hey, relax," Steve said, putting a hand on Cecil's shoulder to keep him where he was. "Don't worry about it." He leaned in again, pressing a kiss to Cecil's mouth, wrapping a hand around himself.

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" Cecil asked.

"Yeah, I've got it," Steve said, kissing Cecil's neck. "Just keep making those sexy little noises for me."

Cecil closed his eyes and hummed softly under Steve's kisses, though the sounds came further and further apart until they stopped completely, replaced by soft breathing. Steve brought himself off, stifling his groan so as not to wake Cecil, then he settled beside the man and followed after him.

***

When Steve awoke--precariously near the edge of the bed--Cecil was still asleep, sprawled across the mattress as if he'd slept there all on his own. Steve watched him for a moment, then climbed out of bed, letting out a groan and pushing his hair out of his face.  He'd proven his point--the exchange of sex went both ways, the housing was a favor--but he'd only proven it to himself, the one person he should never have to prove anything to because he should already _know_.  Aware he only had a few minutes before Stella was up and looking for breakfast, Steve quickly threw some clothes on, then left the room. For a moment he considered messing up the couch to make it look like Cecil had slept there and perhaps just gone out, but Stella would see his car parked outside, so Steve didn't bother.

And that night, when Cecil came home from work and went straight for the bedroom, Steve didn't bother asking him to go back to sleeping on the couch.

***

Steve came home from a job to find Cecil in the kitchen, folding up paper grocery bags.

"Hello, my lovely Steve," Cecil greeted. "I did some shopping and I was just putting everything away. I hope that's all right."

"Yeah, it's fine," Steve said, giving Cecil a kiss. "Thanks." He opened the fridge to see what Cecil had bought. He frowned, finding that while the fridge was certainly full, he couldn't tell if Cecil had bought all the essentials because nothing was in the right place. He began to move things around.

"Is everything all right, sweetheart?" Cecil asked.

"Uh... yeah," Steve said. No need to criticize Cecil when he was just trying to help. "Everything's fine. I'm just looking for...." He grabbed a carton of orange juice. "Juice. Found it." He'd fix the fridge later.

***

If it had been an isolated incident, Steve wouldn't have minded. However, every time Cecil took something out of the fridge, he put it back somewhere else. Steve didn't think it was that hard to remember where everything went, especially since it was only for a few minutes at a time. Steve finally took a dry erase marker to the inside of the fridge, marking out the proper locations of its usual contents. It only took a couple of days for Cecil to rub the labels out with his incessant shifting of items.

That wasn't the only issue either. Steve didn't keep soda in the house regularly, but Cecil drank it like water. Steve didn't mind the soda _being_ there--Stella knew better than to drink it every day. The problem was Cecil's habit of opening a can, drinking only half, and putting it back. Steve wouldn't mind--or so he told himself--if it were one can at a time. However, Cecil tended to forget that they were there and open new ones, leaving a collection of flat, half-empty sodas taking up half a shelf.

Even that wasn't the worst of it. Steve always brought scones to PTA meetings, and he baked them himself. He once left a batch cooling on the counter while he went to a job, and right in the middle of it, he got a text from Cecil.

\-- _I tried one of your scones. I hope that's ok._

Steve started to text back that it was decidedly _not_ okay, and that there was no reason why Cecil couldn't have sent a text _before_ touching the scones, but he figured he was getting altogether too angry over something that was already done. He deleted the text and started over.

_It's fine as long as it was only one._

Steve thought the "don't do it again" was implied, but Cecil took to sampling any batch that Steve took his eyes off of for too long, and always from the same spot on the tray. Steve had never met anyone so consistently and so obliviously inconsiderate, a point that was driven home when one day, a half-eaten scone in his hand, Cecil commented that Steve should wash his car.

"I will at some point," Steve said, packing away the rest of the scones for the PTA meeting. "But have you seen all that lovely sand we've got around here? Makes it kind of pointless to try to keep up with it."

"I know it's not _easy_ ," Cecil said between bites. "But my car doesn't look like _that_. And don't make jokes about it. Really, Steve, you ought to have a little pride."

***

When Steve was particularly annoyed he would find himself taking a mental inventory of his chemicals. Which ones had which side effects on humans. Which ones would kill a person rather than just cause damage to the brain and other organs. How much of each it would take to quickly kill a man of Steve's weight and health. It was calming, really, serving to remind Steve that whatever was bothering him wasn't worth huffing termite gas over. However, when he found himself contemplating how much it would take to quickly kill a man of _Cecil's_ weight and health, Steve realized this was a train of thought he needed to get off of, and the best was to do that was to go to the source.


	4. Poison Would Be Kinder

Steve called Cecil before his show to tell him they needed to talk when Cecil got back in. He had backed down on talking to Cecil about smaller things than this, and he knew himself well enough know that if he didn't commit ahead of time, this conversation would never happen. And it needed to.

"I think I know what this is about," Cecil said. As he should, but Steve didn't want to have this conversation on the phone.

 "Look, Cecil, don't worry about it for now. Just do your show. We'll just talk tonight and--"

"I'm being too personal on the radio again, right?" Cecil cut in.

"What? Oh, uh...."

"I'm so terribly sorry," Cecil went on. "Living with you has just been such a wonderful experience and I wanted to tell everyone all about it. But I can take it down a notch. I will. Starting right now. Don't worry about a thing."

Steve was flabbergasted. Did he really not know? Had he really forgotten that this arrangement had always been intended to be temporary? Had he really taken the favor that Steve had not been obligated to do for him for any period of time at all and turned it into a permanent situation?

"Sweetheart, are you there?" Cecil asked.

"Uh, yeah," Steve said. "That was exactly it. Thank you. Have a good show, Cecil."

If Cecil wasn't going to take his hints and wasn't going to let Steve bring it up, Steve would have to give Cecil a hint that he couldn't ignore.

***

Steve was a bit distracted as he prepared his batch of scones, one of which would include a special ingredient that wasn't rat poison. It was probably far from his best. He left a note next to the cooling tray telling Cecil not to eat the scones, and inside the scone he knew Cecil would eat anyway was a tiny note telling him to turn the first note over. On the back of that note was a breakup, and a command to take his things and leave.

It was perhaps not the bravest way to go about this, but facing the danger of reprimand from a seemingly omnipresent government was easy--ending a personal relationship was hard. Sure, part of him was worried about where Cecil would go, but he was a grown man--he'd figure it out. Besides, if they were both honest, Steve had given Cecil more than enough time to make proper arrangements. He wasn't even sure when Cecil had stopped looking.

It occurred to Steve that if Cecil obeyed the first note, then not only would Steve feel like an idiot, but the scone with the hidden message would be a waste, since he couldn't very well serve it at the PTA meeting. He shook the thought away--of course Cecil would eat the scone. He always did.

***

The phone call came in the middle of a job. Steve stared at the phone for a moment and seriously contemplated not answering, but he stepped outside and took the call.

"Yeah?"

"What the hell, Steve?!" Cecil demanded.

"Do you need me to explain?" Steve asked. "I thought I was pretty clear in my note."

"That's just it! A _note_?! Are you being serious right now?"

"I tend to be very serious, but you always seem to think I'm being funny. What's _really_ funny is that my ex-wife does the exact same thing."

"Look, I don't care about your stupid ex-wife. Can you just tell me what's really going on here?"

"'What's really going on here' is that you just do whatever the hell you want because you know there are never any consequences. And when there are? You don't like it. Does that sound about right to you?"

"Are you naturally unpleasant, or did you have to learn? If you didn't want me eating your fucking scones, you could have just told me!"

"I believe I did, and you apparently did it anyway. So I think it's all settled now. Are you still at the house? You shouldn't be."

"You know what, Steve, you can take your dry, disgusting scones and shove them up your dry, disgusting ass. I have half a mind to go right to the station and tell the whole town what a massive jerk you are."

"On your show, you mean?" Steve asked. "No one cares about your fucking show. They only listen to it because it's mandated by the government."

"It's- Why would-" Cecil faltered, and Steve almost wished he hadn't said it. Until; "You're lying."

"I'm not lying, Cecil," Steve said. "The government is."

"The government is supposed to lie," Cecil said, voice nearly a growl. "It makes people feel better. But you, Steve Carlsberg, you make people feel _awful_. Because _you're_ awful."

"So I'm awful," Steve said. "I'm still telling the truth. And you still didn't listen to me. Good bye, Cecil." He hung up his phone.

***

True to his word, Cecil spent the majority of his show talking about how horrible Steve had become--or had been the entire time. He couldn't really say, blinded as he had been by love. Steve listened to his mandated five minutes and then turned the radio off, but judging by the dirty looks he got from everyone in town the next day--Stella included--everyone else had either heard the entire show or gotten a play-by-play from someone who had. All of Steve's appointments for the next couple of days were cancelled, though the homeowners eventually called back--no less scorn in their tones--to reschedule, because really, who else was going to do it?

Interestingly enough, no one seemed to know the details of the breakup, only that it had happened and that it had been horrible. And that, apparently, so had the entire relationship. Steve thought it was about time Cecil decided to keep something to himself, but maybe he was just embarrassed to tell anyone that he'd been dumped over scones, if that was still what Cecil thought had happened.

***

The officer's phone rang in the frequency that was inaudible to anyone who wasn't a member of the Sheriff's Secret Police, or had illegally obtained the auditory implant.

"How can I help you, Sheriff?" she asked.

"It seems to be working," he said.

"Well, of course it's working," she said. "Anyone who doubted the plan doesn't know our citizens and has no business being a part of this organization."

"Look, I don't think anyone doubted the short-term, but it has to stick. You're sure it will?"

"Yes, of course. I'd say in less than three days, The Exterminator's reputation will be permanent. And The Voice is as sensitive as he is charismatic--he'll be on the topic a lot longer than that."

"Well, commendable job, then, STCRTFB. You'll receive your bonus shortly."

"Anytime, Sheriff. Thank you." She hung up the phone and sighed deeply. "Finally."

Of course it would have been easier to kill Steve. Many dissidents had been handled that way. But the problem was that death was forgettable, and a new threat always popped up to take the dead one's place. Not to mention that in this particular case, the town would need to lure in a new exterminator. Much better this way, to turn the town against him so that no one would be tempted to hear him out, or worse, follow in his footsteps. Of course they'd had to kill two innocent citizens in the process--Cecil's predecessor and his roommate--but they'd killed more for less, and would again.

Besides, she did have a bit of a soft spot for Steve. He was the father of her child, after all.


End file.
